


must be a dream

by crookedsaint



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Rated T for language and incineration trauma, Semi-Verbal Characters, but the nightmare is just the stream exhibition match, two bros chilling on a bed 0 feet apart because one's going through a traumatic experience again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:01:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedsaint/pseuds/crookedsaint
Summary: "Everything was still, stale. All the things that made it harder for Derrick to rest at night, made it easier to find his sleep-of-the-dead in small moments in the here and there, surrounded by sound (friends in the foyer—the CD skips—I remember laughing with them). He could do nothing but stare (staring at a telephone, staring at a Telephone) off into space, spending all his mental effort on staying a quiet, comfortable place for Sebastian to rest his head.Until Seb started shaking."
Relationships: Sebastian Telephone/Derrick Krueger
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	must be a dream

**Author's Note:**

> [devs voice] it was all a dream!
> 
> my semiverbal derrick and sebastian telephone headcanons draw heavily from both the null team twitter and blaseball chat rp (hell) so thanks especially to marn and ell for this one! title from must be a dream by the altogether and lyrics used are credited in the endnotes.
> 
> this fic centers around explicit depiction of a panic attack, and especially if you're triggered by hyperventilating, this is not the fic for you. also be aware that both characters are varying degrees of nonverbal, though they do communicate and no boundaries or consent are violated.
> 
> enjoy!

Sebastian hadn’t always been warm to the touch. Derrick remembered the days when the two of them had been the same, had held each other and felt almost human ( _ like real people do _ , the radio supplied). After what everyone delicately referred to as “the Hall Stars game” around Sebastian and indelicately called “that peanut shitshow” everywhere else, things changed.

In the moment, he’d almost been grateful for it. Seb felt realer now, more solid, more genuinely alive. That was the catch, though. He felt more alive, right up until the moment his head was pressed to Derrick’s chest, his hand having twisted in Derrick’s shirt sometime in the night, and he lay completely, perfectly still. No soft rising and falling pressure on Derrick’s side. No gentle tickle of breath along his collarbone, exposed as it was. No life. Period. End of sentence.

And then.

It was a silent night in the Trench, the same as any other. Cool. Damp. Derrick was awake, as usual. Seb wasn’t. He did all of his sleeping at night, as though there was still something to wake up to in the morning besides another day of pitch, hit, consequence. Pitch, hit, consequence. Everything was still, stale. All the things that made it harder for Derrick to rest at night, made it easier to find his sleep-of-the-dead in small moments in the here and there, surrounded by sound ( _ friends in the foyer _ —the CD skips— _ I remember laughing with them _ ). He could do nothing but stare ( _ staring at a telephone, staring at a Telephone _ ) off into space, spending all his mental effort on staying a quiet, comfortable place for Sebastian to rest his head.

Until Seb started shaking.

It wasn’t—nothing had to be  _ wrong  _ for Seb to start shaking. Hell, sometimes it was a good thing. It’s not like Derrick wasn’t used to surprise, to enthusiasm, to panic—everything that made the static spike, made Seb jump and jitter.

But he was hot to the touch, now, and getting hotter by the minute.

“ _ Telephone wire _ ,” Derrick hissed, wrapping his arm around Seb’s shoulders. “ _ I only want to see if I can shake you out of sleep _ .”

Sebastian wasn’t so much shaking now as thrashing. His hands came up to meer Derrick’s arm, closing around it like a vice grip (like a lifeline,  _ I'm livin' for givin' the devil his due, An' I'm burnin', I'm burnin', I'm burnin' for you,  _ repeated like a taunt, over and over). 

“ _ Is it just me, or is it getting a little warm in here? _ ” Derrick swallowed. He knew it wasn’t possible to burn again in the Trench (did he really?  _ I was the match and you were the rock _ —), no, no,  _ knew _ it wasn’t an option. Knew there was no such easy escape from eternity. And yet, every atom of his body wanted to get as far from Sebastian as possible, pry every inch of burning skin apart, roll onto the floor and reassure himself on cool tile. “ _ Flames scorching them, but they'll be out soon _ ,” he managed.

As if on cue, Seb’s eyes snapped open. “I’m too—h—ot—please, Derrick—can’t—wasn’t there— _ hot _ ,” he said, his chest heaving, his long-dead ribs shuddering under the sudden force of breathing. No, shit, of  _ hyperventilating _ . Derrick wished he could ask what was wrong, but it would take a lot of fine-turning (take too long,  _ it’s the end of the world as we know it, _ but no, that won’t help, not right now, shut it  _ off _ ). Didn’t help that Seb’s voice was garbled at the best of times—as it was, Derrick could only make out a few words through the thick, foggy static.

“ _ You got time, you're on the mend, babe _ ,” he said, hoping it was soothing enough. God, he didn’t know enough music meant to  _ soothe,  _ didn’t have the careful words and gentle melodies Sebastian needed. 

Seb’s body had started to cool, but every place they touched still felt feverish. Muggy, almost, under the weight of the blankets. Even now, he hadn’t stopped occasionally convulsing, his very body hiccuping and jumping at the slightest shift in position. “Again—again—again. I—taken sleeping—not even—not safe—can’t do this.” Derrick held Seb a little tighter as he choked out another still-reflexive inhale. “Can’t do this anymore.”

“ _ Oh, oh, telephone line, give me some time _ .” Derrick laced a hand through the hair at the nape of Seb’s neck, shifting them both gently so they were leaned up against the wall. “ _ Can't you just let it ring a little longer, longer, longer? _ ”

“Tired—tired—tired.” His chest was still again, and, oh, that was worse. He’d relaxed his grip on Derrick’s arm, let himself be folded up in a more comfortable embrace. But now he just hung there, head bent limply into the curve of Derrick’s neck. “Call ended. [dial tone].”

“ _ I’m on the case. Can’t be fooled. _ ” He rubbed a slow, cautious circle in Seb’s back—and, at the way he pressed his face into Derrick’s shoulder, kept going. Kept trying. “ _ Any objection. Is overruled. _ ”

A swish and crackle of staticky laughter.

“ _ No one can deny that these are difficult times. _ ”

“No kiddi—think it’s o—bv—ious.”

“ _ 'Cause we walk but once among the living. So, no regrets and no forgiving. _ ”

“Know that one—ironic— _ hard to dance _ — _ down upon your knees _ .”

“ _ But I'm a little too late. _ ” Derrick smiled, leaning down to Seb’s ear. “ _ And I will come down from the fire, _ ” he said, letting his voice buzz and whir as he got to the important part: “ _ And I will place blame on you softly and care for you often at night. _ ”

“Sap.” He kissed the soft place just below Derrick’s jaw, his lips still that uncanny step too hot. Like a cast iron pan, hours too late to burn you, but enough to make you flinch. 

Shit. “ _ Don’t stop at all _ — _ don’t stop at _ —”

“Sorry—sorry. I didn’t mea—bad time. Wrong thing to do wh—still fresh.”

Derrick buried his face in Seb’s curls. “ _ Wanna be easy to love. _ ” It’s half-sarcastic, the riff in the middle peaking and crunching.

“All have our own—sometimes—need time.”

“ _ And I’m all about this stupid act. So who am I to blame? _ ” Derrick pulled back, the newfound cold washing over his face and neck as if he’d just stepped into a postgame shower. “ _ Hand me your hand.”  _ A crunch, and a slight pain in his throat as he forced himself not to continue. “ _ And if you ever need help, or simply to open your heart to someone—? _ ”

Sebastian’s voice skipped and repeated, clearer this time. “Sometimes we need time.”

“ _ Maybe it's the heat in here, maybe it's the pressure. _ ” Derrick pulled the blankets back up to cover them both. “ _ And we will let the water fill our lungs and sleep. _ ”

“Maybe you—not sure—ready.”

“ _ Love, we go down, we go down. Breathe, it's over now, over now. _ ”

Seb didn’t say anything. Didn’t even move. But the static slowly turned down, the noise fading, the dial clicking smoothly counterclockwise as they drifted off together.

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics credit in order of appearance: like real people do by hozier, friends in the foyer by valleyheart, staring at a telephone by stephen day, telephone wire from fun home, enough to go by by vienna teng, burning for you by blue oyster cult, the man on the burning tightrope by firewater, things we lost in the fire by bastille, fire fire by steam powered giraffe, end of the world as covered by great big sea, you worry me by nathaniel rateliff, telephone line by elo, opening ceremony from chess, dark days indeed by firewater, too late by the happy fits, drink by the happy fits, easy to love by couch, are you there? from bare: a pop opera, autoclave by the mountain goats, pierre & natasha from natasha pierre and the great comet of 1812, halcyon by the paper kites
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
